


Transformer Prompts

by orphan_account



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM, Food Kink, Licking, Multi, Soft sex, Stuffing, Tickling, Toys, fanny farts, literally all the kinks you can imagine, prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-27 14:41:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 12,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2696684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I asked for prompts. I got prompts.<br/>[Varies in genre and rating - will provide more detailed summaries inside.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I asked for prompts and got a lot more than expected.  
> Because of my impeccable LACK of foresight I have not been able to finish all of them (that is a gross understatement) so I will aim to complete one a day and so on. 
> 
> Thank you everyone who suggested something, but please be patient - I have a lot of assignments/coursework and personal projects to attend to as well.
> 
> Enjoy!

Rating: T

Warnings: None.

Drift realises he asked a favour from the  _wrong_ scientist.

* * *

 

Since Drift had arrived Perceptor had been watching him from across the median line of benches partitioning Brainstorm’s workshop. Drift nodded at Perceptor out of courtesy, but had come seeking Brainstorm turning Perceptor in to an outlier among the clutter of Brainstorm’s projects.

“Weapon’s upgrade?” Brainstorm broadcasted for Perceptor’s benefit, “Well, I’ll have to see what I’m working with first!” Drift’s reactions were askew, he couldn’t stop glancing at Perceptor and in his distraction gave Brainstorm an opportunity to lunge in. His hand closed round the hilt of Drift’s sword, as the fine metal started to lift from its sheath the action was immediately stopped. Drift’s fingers closed firmly round Brainstorm’s wrist, disapproving. 

“Relax!” Brainstorm chortled, sight lingering down sweeping the distance between both sword’s stationed at Drift smooth hips, “I’m just having a little peek…”

Reluctantly, Drift’s grasp eased and crisp ring of metal overshadowed the purr of Brainstorm’s engines. 

“Very nice.” But the comment was not aimed at the refined blade. 

Drift rocked between his feet, disgruntled. 

“Upgrades?” Already Brainstorm seemed to have forgotten that Drift _hadn’t_ just come to see him. Incidentally, neither had Perceptor. 

While Brainstorm toured Drift through his lab pointing out over-modified, gaudy accessories with poor purpose, Perceptor found what he'd come to borrow and turned the instrument a few times in his hand to assure himself of its authenticity. He had no desire to remain a third-party to Brainstorm’s showboating as he, frankly, found it quite sickening. 

As Drift saw Perceptor march for the door, the tickle of Brainstorm’s fingers dipped lower than his shoulders. On the workbench in front of them, lined up beside Drift's sword, as if trying them on for size, were many, many gadgets Drift hadn’t asked for. His mind was being bulldozed by technical jargon and the need for a second opinion rose in him. 

“Perceptor!” He called out, hope dying on his tongue. 

Perceptor slowly paused and turned, just as Drift sidled away from Brainstorm’s curious hand. 

Perceptor stared, so stoic it was off putting, Drift didn’t like to waste time so he swallowed trepidation and asked for his opinion. Confidence minimal. 

Looking between them both; Perceptor saw a mech drowning in uncertainty and Brainstorm’s optics narrow, their rivalry souring again. The choice was exasperating, he was busy, but for Drift he made an exception. 

“I think you’d better come with me. Bring that.” He gestured at the cluttered workbench then beckoned Drift. 

Drift collected his sword and followed, unheeding of Brainstorm’s protest. 


	2. Request 2: Prowl & Constructicons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: Prowl suffers an injury to his chest in battle. It proves very distracting for the Constructicons, particularly when he's walking down stairs.

Rating: T

Warnings: None

* * *

 

Earth’s utensils weren’t compatible with Cybertronian sizes. Prowl had made his own mirror out of a long sheet of metal stripped from somewhere. No one came looking for it, so he buffed and used it. The wobbly length of metal was balanced on a makeshift filing cabinet in his office - a lonely little room above the main hanger where the other’s milled. 

The mirror’s reflection made Prowl look warped and bubbly but he persevered, twisting and stretching his body, rolling his arms. Each action provoking a small rattle from his chest. 

Grumbling, he took his bumper in both hands and lifted its heft, wiggling in from side to side. There wasn’t supposed to be so much movement, it was distracting. Underneath he spotted some wear and tear: frayed cables and slack wires. Prowl’s lips twisted distastefully.

Defeated, Prowl released his bulky chest, gravity acted and the sharpness of the fall provoked pain in his shoulder. Wincing, he inspected the source. 

There was a meeting he needed to attend downstairs. He could already hear the hum of stir crazy mechs gathering. Too keep things time efficient, Prowl made his self diagnosis speedily, leaning his shoulder into the mirror’s view. His fingers prodded into something sensitive and he winced again. There was damage. He remembered sustaining it after taking a tumble off a cliffside from a height. Dust and shrapnel had gathered in the disfigurement and Prowl dug it out before deciding there was nothing else he could do at this time. 

In a hurry to arrive on time, Prowl tromped down the stairs. The motion putting a strain on loose components. His back ached as his bumper wobbled up and down. up and down. 

In front of him a sea of purple and green expanded. Their optics were wide and mouths open, theoretically salivating. But they weren’t ogling his face…

Scowling, Prowl took hold of his chest and held it stiff. 


	3. Starscream & Rattrap: Jerks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: Starscream/Rattrap - Jerks.

Rating: M 

Warning: Impressional conduct, smut.

* * *

The responsibility of being Cybertron’s chief wasn’t all of the glitz and glamour Starscream anticipated. Emerging from war meant a lot of dirty work was involved. Starting with the plumbing system. 

“ _Uhg.”_

Charts filled Starscream’s desk indicating some very messy dealings. He whined. It had been a long time since anyone had taken care of maintenance. As such the pipes were in desperate need of a service. The need for release would be immense - decades of build up left unattended. 

As he concentrated, Starscream squirmed - who knows what _vermin_ would scurry down there to-

“UH!” 

Pressure released something vile and Starscream shoved back from his desk. 

Rattraps little paws were still cemented round his spike having just been pulling and tugging on it. 

His face was a mess. 

Starscream smirked, provoking an indignant bark of from beneath the desk,

“Jerk!” 

 


	4. Rung

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: Rung’s a sex expert but no one can remember his face or name.

Rating: M

Warnings: Mild innuendo. 

* * *

“So, I was with this mech last night!”

“Really? Who was it?”

“No idea! I’d had a bit to drink, hell-of-a-frag mind you.” Skids told the table, “Taught me a trick or two.” 

“I had a frag like that once, never even got his name but _damn_ if I was to ever meet him again - I think I’d remember him.” Atomiser spoke to Skids over Rung’s head. 

“Me too!”

The therapist sipped daintily on his energon, _no, you won’t_ was his listener’s input - and that’s exactly how he wanted it to stay.  


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megatron and Optimus chat about their troops.

The trial was done. Slowly, the auditorium on Luna 1 was emptying and the crowd’s voice was an indiscernible hum of displeasure. No one was entirely appeased by the result of the trial. Megatron was still calling himself an Autobot which was an affront to everyone somehow on either faction.

Megatron being allowed to live was seen as equally diabolical by everyone but Megatron himself. 

He’d been left alone in a room with Ultra Magnus reviewing the terms of his sentence when Optimus Prime entered. Shortly after Ultra Magnus had been dismissed. He protested but was grudgingly obligated to comply. 

“He’s a strange one.” Megatron commented once the door had closed on Ultra Magnus’s back. 

“Heh.” Optimus slid into the seat Magnus had previously occupied. 

“We’ve just spent the last half hour puzzling over a semi-colon. Apparently, they’re more important than I realise.”

“According to Ultra Magnus?” 

Megatron nodded. 

“I’ve noticed he’s become more obsessive over grammar recently… since the last million years or so. I’ve considered asking him to stop being so particular but I fear doing so would lead to me signing one of these forms too.” Even at a glance, the extensive clauses defining Megatron’s sentence were incomprehensibly complex. 

“It would be like asking Starscream to give up treachery, it just wouldn’t happen.”

“He has Cybertron now. Surely he has no one left to betray.” 

“After eons of cunning and trickery? The paranoia will get to him eventually, he’ll end up betraying himself sooner or later.” 

A strange kind of pity crunched Optimus’s expression. The though of a mech like Starscream, poisoned by self importance, twisting on himself had a bitter taste of irony to it.

“For the benefit of our planet, I hope not.”

“It disgusts you, doesn’t it? Cybertron on the greasy grasp of a Decepticon.”

“Not just a Decepticon, Starscream. But I can think of others I’d loath to see settling with so much power.”

“Oh?” Megatron sat back, cocking his head in an inquisitive way. “Like who?”

They both mulled over the options. Prowl who’s become ruthlessly cold…

“…or Shockwave, who ignored the science that eventually killed him.” 

“Senator Shockwave deserved better.” 

“But Shockwave the scientist got what he deserved. If he’d won, Cybertron wouldn’t be worth fighting for. All that time he was scheming, I let it happen, right under my nose. I knew he only had his goals in sight but somehow… somehow I always expected our goals would cross paths, and meet at the end.” Optimus hung his helm, “I didn’t think you’d remember him so fondly, given what happened to Bumblebee.”  

The pangs of Megatron’s conscience were heard by Optimus, he looked intensely at his old enemy. 

“You did not know Bumblebee as I did.” It was not meant to sound sinister, Optimus was frustrated that Megatron had claim to the mech’s last moments and to have experienced them so profoundly. 

“As you did not know what Shockwave had become. Which goes to show,” Megatron tapped his fingers on the angry red stare embezzled on his chest, “We may never know what we’re capable of until it has already happened.” 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Top!Tailgate/Bottem!Cyclonus BDSM sex marathon. By the end of it, Tailgate has cuddled against Cyclonus for a nap and the older bot is so terrified he can’t even breath properly.

There was a time when Cyclonus could go all night.

No honestly, although he’d never put it to the test he knew he could… was sure he could.

He was more supple back then too. Able to bend. He could give it just as good as he could take it… and take it, and take it, and -

“Taaaailgate.” He huffed. The berth was shaking, the hinges bracketing it to the wall bouncing. Cyclonus’s aft was redecorating the recharge slab purple. His vents pitched high and whined for mercy as he overloaded, again, spike pulsing out the last few dregs of his transfluid in weak, twitchy motions but Tailgate was  _still_  going, making sinfully delicious sounds. Sticky white hands braced against Cyclonus’s middle and he rammed himself down Cyclonus’s almost flaccid spike.

“Yes tha - that’s yeh, uh,  _ohhh_.” Tailgate sang, bowing back sharply, grinding his hips in a way that made Cyclonus screw his optics shut and pray.

“Ahhhh!

“Ugh.”

For one, beautifully peaceful second Cyclonus was allowed to lie still, strutless, and nearly melted into the berth.

…Until Tailgate perked up again,  

“That was great!” The minibot chimed, snapping back to reality in an instant. Ever so gently, he eased of Cyclonus’s spike, rolling his valve twice more round the very,  _very_  tip, giving him a flirty squeeze before removing himself entirely and expelling an ungodly amount of transfluid.

‘Oh!” Tailgate held his face, embarrassed. “Good mech, Cyclonus. You did so well.” He crawled up the berth, drizzling fluid, and nuzzled Cyclonus’s hollow cheeks. Wafts of stifling air hit his sticky white plating.

Cyclonus lay insensate, save for the dull throbbing in his joints where his legs had been pulled and spread and bent to Tailgate’s satisfaction.

“Fuh- ffff - frag me.” Cyclonus wheezed. Optics like shrunken pins holes in his head. His chest got tighter as his ventilation systems seized up in an aftershock of energy. The kind of energy that had pent up in Tailgate over six million sexless years and needed to be expelled.

The rhetoric of Cyclonus’s cry for mercy was mistaken as literal.

“Really?” Tailgate’s visor fizzed with excitement, “Well okay! Can we use the hand cuffs this time?”

Cyclonus whined.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Megatron and Trailcutter are screwing. Suddenly Megatron’s hip joint locks up and his screams in pain. Rodimus bursts in holding a camera, laughing his ass off (Video Update: Old Man can’t even screw without pulling a cable) Trailcutter is just terrified out of his mind.

Trailcutter was flushed with panic, at first he thought it was something he’d done. But being bent over, belly on the desk the desk while Megatron did his thing above him didn’t give Trailcutter much opportunity to do anything wrong. Which was why he worried when something above him suddenly went ‘pop’ and Megatron retreated hissing and swearing. His spike was clenched after as Trailcutter instinctually tried to hold on.

“W-Wh what happened?!”

Megatron’s reply was a gargle of static and a wince of pain. He gripped his hip and staggered back, doubling forward.

-

Rodimus had no idea one mech could make so much noise. He’d turned his music up,  _loud_ , it had done the trick for a while but now he could hear them again - caterwauling. Primus, this was very not okay. Don’t get him wrong, Rodimus liked a quickie as much as the next mech (probably  _more_ than the next mech) doing it in the office was super fun as well, and hot. But this time he wasn’t the one having a frag, it was someone else and Rodimus didn’t like that - especially as he was, for once, miraculously actually trying to do some work.

He shoved away from his desk and paced next door, scowling. He’d catch them in the act. That would embarrass them enough into stopping. As  _Co-Captain_  he had the command code to unlock all doors as well.  _Heh - heh._ Ol’ Megs should’ve known better.

Rodimus slapped in the access code.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay.” He heard as the door peeled back and Rodimus was confronted by a horrifying scene.

Horrifying in the sense that he saw much more than he needed to.

Megatron buckled on the floor with his legs spread wide and Trailcutter crouched over him, hands planted in Megatron’s groin. There was some sort of salve sitting nearby, the odour of its greasy consistency was thick in the air. Suggesting to Rodimus they must have needed a lot of the gunk to slick up Megatron’s ageing interface which, was presently on display and still ragingly hard.

Rodimus couldn’t tear his optics off it.

No wonder Trailcutter kept coming back for more.

“It’s not what it looks like!” Trailcutter bleated, as it was the accustomed response to being walked in on.

Megatron didn’t care. He gripped his groin and rolled onto his back, writhing in tension stricken agony.

From the corner of his eye he saw their spectator start to shift. The sly bugger was trying to sneak a camera on them.

“Rodimus!” Megatron bellowed, as Trailcutter’s flabbergasted gestures tried to obstruct the view finder, “Don’t you  **dare**!”

But Rodimus succeeded,

A bright flash caught both of their faces in focus.

Next weeks Insider was going to be a sell out.  


	8. Tarn/Soundwave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Tarn x soundwave with licking ;) thank you.

When Tarn learned one of Megatron’s most esteemed advisors was due to conduct an evaluation of how Tarn managed the infamous brutality of the Decepticon cause, Tarn confessed himself excited.  To share a room with a mech who regularly came into contact with Lord Megatron was a privilege and Tarn was hell bent on expressing his gratitude.

Soundwave had initially been dismissive of Tarn’s advances, claiming he was as much a servant to Megatron as Tarn, but that was untrue. Soundwave had the unique opportunity to pass on a message to their Lord, and Tarn would ensure his message was sent.

Gradually, he wore down Soundwave’s resolve, until one day when they were alone in an office reviewing catalogues of torture, Soundwave finally broke. It seemed Tarn’s decorum was irresistible…along with the innocuous tunes he hummed whenever they were alone.  

It began with Tarn offering to wash Soundwave’s feet. Soundwave was weary after a trying day, it felt good to be cleansed. Tarn watched Soundwave relax, molecule by molecule his spark succumbed to Tarn’s will

“Would you like me to continue?”

Soundwave shuddered.

“Affirmative.” Soundwave was more automaton than mech, but Tarn had the means to melt even the most frigid characters.

He took the tip of Soundwave’s foot into his mouth and laved his tongue over the newly washed surface. It tasted clean.

Soundwave was not prepared, a command to desist bubbled on his cautious tongue but he could not speak it. Tarn continued to pamper him, his tongue wriggling between wires in Soundwave’s knee, he caught Soundwave’s heel and eased open his legs, inviting himself to explore further into Soundwave’s lap and Soundwave himself was powerless to object.

Tarn made Soundwave’s thighs tremble. His manipulation was deft and precise. Between his tongue, his teeth and the heady pulse of his EM fields, his mastery of Soundwave’s body was undeniable.

He journeyed up Soundwave’s body as far as he could before encountering the obstacle of Soundwave’s interface panel. Tarn’s breath played over the seams, but before demanding it open, Tarn wormed his tongue into the wires fastening Soundwave’s legs to his body.

It was the first time Soundwave made a noise. Though he’d responded in other ways, listening to Soundwave keen certainly inflated Tarn’s ego.

Next to his audio, Tarn heard the hiss of Soundwave’s interface locks uncoupling and stopped the motion as it began, jamming Soundwave close with a firm hand.

“Ah-ah. Not yet,” Tarn purred. Another tremble passed through Soundwave, he rocked his interface in Tarn’s hand. “Oh look at that, you’re certainly  ** _eager_**  aren’t you?” Lubricant drooled through the hairline seams, wetting Tarn’s fingers. He leaned down and took a sniff. Soundwave’s arousal was intriguing. From his reputation, Tarn expected he’d need to work harder than this, it was almost too easy.  

“I have a request, Soundwave.” Tarn lifted his hand and admired the sheen of lubricant drizzled over his fingers like the silk of a spider’s web, “Will you pass on a message to Lord Megatron for me?” Tarn touched the lubricant to his glossa.

“Elaborate.” Soundwave was struggling to keep his ventilations regular. The material covering the armrests creaked under the stress of his fingertips.

Tarn hummed,

“Tell him: my tongue made his favourite general cum.”

And the evidence would surely be marked all over Soundwave’s thighs.    


	9. Tarn/Pharma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: pharma and tarn with a voice kink and blindfolds please?

With the introduction of a blindfold, Pharma had hoped to level the playing field, but somehow it only served to bruise his ego more.

“What are you doing now,  **Doctor**?”

Tarn’s lust was usually carnal and brutish, putting him on his back and denying him the please of taking control fueled a more fiendishly articulate streak of his personality Pharma was unaccustomed to confronting in the berth.

After some insisting, Tarn agreed to remove the mask, it was the only way Pharma could be sure the blindfold could be secured so tightly it wouldn’t budge. Unfortunately, it revealed Tarn’s unholy smirk. 

Pharma huffed, condensation dribbled between his wings, the flush warming his face wasn’t only caused by Tarn’s jibes. The thick spike lancing Pharma’s ceiling node was making him hot and bothered too.

Pharma  _tried_  to clench up, but his cooling systems were absorbing much of his energy and Tarn’s monstrous girth spread his callipers so flat they could barely twitch.

“W-What do you think I’m doing?!” Pharma didn’t mean to shriek, but keeping a steady voice was impossible, “ _Nn-uhh_!” Pharma threw his head back and bounced hard, determined to make an impression.

“Hmmm…I’m not sure… I don’t  ** _feel_** much.”

Pharma’s spark was stroked by static charge. His insides quivered, the tangible, aching pressure of an impending overload steadily oozing through his relays and collecting where it mattered.

“All I feel is you getting  ** _wet_. ** Are you so  ** _used_**  and ** _spent_  **that you can’t even frag yourself anymore?”

Pharma toppled forward with a groan. Tarn’s hand pressed between his wings, squashing Pharma against his chest as he started to thrust.

“Tell me Pharma…what are you doing?”

Pharma whined.

“Come on Doctor, use your words. Describe to me how you feel…I miss being able to see your face.”

The steady pumping of the spike inside him made Pharma cringe. All up his aft felt damp, he’d accidentally smeared fluid across his cheek. He felt like a wanton mess…and he loved it.

“Nuhh!” Pharma heaved himself back up, resisting Tarn’s attempts to tug him down again and sunk deeply onto Tarn’s spike, taking it as far as he could before it compressed his ceiling node.

Tarn felt his spike move as Pharma rolled his hips in slow, tight circles.

“You can do better than that.” Tarn growled, but as he shoved his hips higher, Pharma lifted off. Without support, Tarn’s wet spike slapped against his metal and was tickled by the cold air.

“Pharma?” The darkness made Tarn turn his head. He could feel the heat of Pharma’s body lingering over him, panting, “What’re you doing? Don’t tell me you’ve overloaded already?” He mocked, until he felt something hot and firm press to his lips.

“You know, Tarn.” Pharma gasped as his steadily sheathed himself inside Tarn’s big mouth, pushing as far back as his intake, “Sometimes you talk too much.”


	10. Skyfire/Starscream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: You still want people to send you a kink and a pairing? How about G1 Starscream and Skyfire, doing a trying-to-be-kinky married couple roleplay where skyfire pretends to be a lusty burglar. Their safeword is "iceberg."

The room was dark and Starscream was pretending to be asleep. There was tension in the air and as soon as Starscream heard an ominous creak in the floorboards his wings shivered with anticipation.

“Who’s there?” Starscream was talented, he could convince his voice to sound groggy as he pushed off the berth and confronted the bulky outline of an assailant waiting in the doorway, their outline highlighted by the glow of the cityscape reaching in through the window.

The shape swept forward, they dived onto the berth and Starscream was wrestled under his assailant. The yelp bursting out of his mouth was smothered by his assailant’s cold hand.

“Quiet!” The assailant barked, “Be quiet or else things will get  _very, very_ bad for you.” For emphasis, Starscream’s legs were pushed apart, he felt a knee brush up the inside of his thighs and squash against his interface, “Do you understand?”    

Starscream nodded, his eyes casting lusty red light across the contours of the mech’s face. Gingerly, the hand lifted away and Starscream gasped.

“What do you want from me?”

The assailant grabbed Starscream’s wrists and pinned them down, he pushed Starscream’s legs apart further, the sudden force making Starscream shudder.

“If it wasn’t already obvious, I want you.” Teeth buried into Starscream’s neck, tucking and nipping on the loose wires. “But not just you, first you’re going to show me where all your valuables are…”

“My valuables?” Starscream squirmed. The assailant eased back, the pressure around Starscream’s wrists slackened.

“Y-your… _our toys_ , Star…” Skyfire spoke awkwardly through his teeth. Starscream breathed out harshly.

“I know what you meant! Stay in character!”

“Sorry - I mean! Not sorry!” “ _Assailant_ ” Skyfire lowered his voice from a squeak to a husky demand, “Show me, now!”

Starscream was allowed to move and hurriedly rolled off the berth to the bedside draw, where all his ‘valuables’ were within easy access. Starscream’s hands trembled as he stroked over the assorted girths.

“W-Which one?”

“A big one.”

“But you’ll split my aft in half!”

The damsel character Starscream portrayed made Skyfire cringe. But he had important plans for Starscream’s valve.

“You’re going to help me smuggle these spikes out of the Hab Suite. No one will suspect a thing.”

Starscream paused, the heavy silicon toy spun in his hands and he watched Skyfire retract his interface panel, “Come here. Crawl.”

Starscream obeyed, creeping across the room and onto the berth with his aft held high and swaying. Skyfire wetted his lips.  

“What now?” A shred of the true Starscream slipped through, getting impatient with Skyfire’s unnecessary pause.

“Get it wet… I want to see you ride it. Maybe it’ll prepare you for me.”

It wasn’t as if the toy hadn’t been trialled and tested before but bringing it into play so early was a little daunting. Starscream kissed the tip to his valve. He was excited, but he wasn’t prepared.

“Umm, iceberg?”

Skyfire’s optics brightened. Starscream turned bashful.

“You know Mr Burglar there are other ‘valuables’ we could try out first?” He twisted his head up and his wings hiked high.

Skyfire’s smile hardened. He tackled Starscream down to the berth, false spike flying aside.

“I’m in control here! And if that’s really how you feel we’ll start with  _my_  fingers first.”

Starscream scoffed.

“Oh,  _Primus_  not  _fingers_.” He wasn’t  _that_ vanilla. But Skyfire never said where those fingers were going - they dug into Starscream’s sides and wriggled, provoking a squeal. It was undoubtedly the worst, most undignified torture ever.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried T_T part of me wanted to put Skyfire in stripy pyjamas and a ball and chain like an escaped convict but I resisted… maybe next time haha xD


	11. Skids/Swerve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Skids/Swerve stuffing kink

Ever since the incident of mild poisoning and the subsequent opening of  _Visages_ , Swerve was struggling to essentially  _get rid_ of his energon before it met it’s expiration date. He’d drafted in Skids to assist him. Unfortunately, what initial started out as a pleasant pass time with a friend soon required some extra persuasion.  

Skids huffed, set down his partly emptied Mid Grade canister in a sloppy motion. It spun into several other canisters sitting on the table and made them wobble. Skids slumped back.

“Swerve… I can’t.” He was bloated and uncomfortable. Some time ago, his primary tanks exceeded their maximum capacity and his systems engaged a rarely used overflow tank to cope with the excessive volume. The overflow tank was supposed to be a last resort, presently it was half full. Skids felt like a round bubble with arms and legs, and a spike that was being greedily licked.

Swerve slurped off Skids’ member, his lips were plumped up and glossy with pearls trails of pre-fluid and saliva

“Yes, you can, come on - one more.” Because it wasn’t only his tanks that were getting stuffed. Skids’ valve was crowded with a collection of beads threaded together. Every twitch made by his overworked, desperate systems squeezed the beads inside him and Skids was on the verge of being incapacitated by over-stimulation. “You can do it.” Swerve stroked his hands over the swelling that warped Skids middle. The plating was sore and hot, but as soon as Swerve touched him the pleasant relief made his valve throb and Skids was ready for more.

Still flushed and hot round his neck, Skids nodded.

Swerve smiled and eagerly returned to his work - wrapping his big mouth over Skids girth while convincing Skids’ well-adjusted valve to swallow the last and largest of the beads. When it finally breached him, Skids drowned his screech in energon, spilling more of the sticky liquid down his front than into his mouth. Swerve lapped up the spillage as it pooled around the base of Skids spike.

The iris of Skids’ valve constricted behind the final bead and squeezed around the length of cord left outside of his valve. As if everything had been suddenly forced upward, all the extra space in Skids was squeezed and Skids grasped his sides - groaning.

“You okay?” Swerve asked between mouthing at the tip of the straining spike. “How do you feel.”

Skids bowed forward slowly, awaiting the pass of a spasm. Some lubricant was pressed out of his valve and mixed with the other sticky overflow of energon pooling under Skids’ aft.

“ _Full._ ”

“But like…” Swerve licked his lips, “Good full?”

A sharp hiccup interrupted Skids first attempt at speaking. He reached out for Swerve’s helm and stroked his thumb over the minibot’s filthy lips before guiding them back to his spike.

“You bet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn’t sure if you mean food or valve stuffing… so I wrote both :D


	12. Fort Max/Snare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Snare/Fort Max, mild BDSM, lotsa restraints, convict/warden roleplay

Fortress Maximus wished there was a better way to describe this other than  _abusing his power._  

The Decepticon was meek and small,  _breakable_ under his hands. Those pretty wings were pitched up so high they must have been burning around the hinges. When Fortress Maximus leaned forward, he squashed those pretty wing flat and felt the Decepticon wriggle under him - the unyielding shape of stasis cuffs dug into Maximus’s hips and pinned the Decepticon’s hands near his aft.

Under his weight, he heard whimpering.

“Don’t scream,” Fortress Maximus warned, and the hot valve gripping a fraction of his girth twitched.

Fortress Maximus dug his finger under the material gagging his conquest and pulled it aside. The Decepticon gasped hard.

“Speak, Snare.”

At first he warbled, and Fortress Maximus rolled his hips. Snare strained and blinked back the afterglow he didn’t have the privilege of savouring.

“Please, Sir, I’ve finished.”

“Hnng,” Fortress Maximus eased back. Snare’s pliant body sagged as it was released, “You got a mouth under there?”

Snare nodded. They positions changed, Fortress Maximus hooked his fist round Snare’s restraints and assisted him off the berth, heaving him up with impressive strength and depositing him not too gently on the floor, while Fortress Maximus sank onto the berth heavily. His straining spike was level with Snare’s mouth, streaked with their fluids.

“You like it?” He asked because Snare was still staring, even after Maximus had removed his mask. Snare’s thin lips curved slightly as he imagined how the spike’s shape would feel in his mouth. But he didn’t need to imagine, and as soon as he started to lean in Fortress Maximus’s hand guided Snare onto the tip.

Max hissed. Snare’s tongue ran between his transfluid slit before he worked more of Max’s girth into his mouth, rubbing the head across his cheek, his denta flirting over the supple metal. Fortress Maximus’s legs spread wider. Snare gurgled, drawing back briefly, swallowing, then lunging back for more, his tongue making many skilful prods, sweeping the nodes along the underside as they’d practiced before.

Fortress Maximus’s reaction was as anticipated; a lack of self-control, his fingers crunched into Snare’s helm, encouraging to suckle on a bit more, take him a little deeper.

Snare rumbled and Maximus relaxed his grip, contenting himself with what he had as Snare picked up the pace. Without the aid of his hands to balance him, Snare couldn’t save himself from bobbing a little too far forward and letting the spike slip into his intake. The reflexive twitch of his throat felt good enough to make the warden groan Snare’s name.

As he felt Fortress Maximus’s spike start to jerk, Snare’s lips tightened and his cheeks caved in. He felt the hot splash of fluid strike the roof of his mouth and Fortress Maximus’s grip on his helm firmed to ensure he’d take it all.

The fluid kept filling his mouth and no matter how hard he willed it, Snare’s tanks refused to suck down that much transfluid. A guttural cough forced Snare’s lips open and a backwash of transfluid filled Fortress Maximus’s lap.

“Aw slag,” he grunted and let Snare ease back onto his haunches: spluttering, shivering and incapable of hiding the soft gleam of moisture clinging to his exposed valve because Fortress Maximus had used magnets to clamp the panel open. “I warned you didn’t I?”

Snare’s bright optics flashed up, his lips twitched.

“You did.”

Fortress Maximus’s spike was receding, there was a box of wet-wipes sitting on a work unit alongside the key for the stasis cuffs. After composing himself, Fortress Maximus heaved off the berth and gathered both items. He unlocked Snare first and listened to him breathe a sigh of relief as his full mobility was restored.

“But you enjoyed it right?” Snare’s wings perked up and fell, his mood was intrinsically linked to Maximus’s reaction.    

Rolling his optics Fortress Maximus replied.

“I think your fantasies are weird.”

Snare grinned at let Maximus tug him into his lap on the berth where Fortress Maximus gently smeared away the streaks of fluid caked over Snare’s thighs.

“Thank you,  _Sir._ ” Snare twisted his nose into Fortress Maximus’s neck and smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> much love for the under represented OTP


	13. Drift/Ratchet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Embarrassing interfacing situations: Dratchet ;)

Drift was going so hard the entire berth rocked. Ratchet blamed the frail creaking sounds filling the room on the berth as well because those noises couldn’t be coming from Ratchet’s joints.

“You’re full of beans tonight, Kid.” Ratchet panted, rolling his aft back to even out Drift’s pace.

Drift slapped a hand on Ratchet’s hip and dug in his fingers.

“Gotta be quick with you, old-timer” he puffed, “You don’t last.”

Ratchet’s instinctual outrage was kerbed by movement. Drift shunted him up the berth, Ratchet collapsed onto his forearms and chewed his gums.

“ _Hnng.”_

Drift eased off but put his whole weight into slower thrusts and the creaks and hisses that had filled the room were overpowered by hot, slick sounds. Ratchet squirmed, as Drift’s spike reached in far enough to rub his ceiling node and did it again and again. Frowning in concentration, Drift pulled back and tantalised Ratchet with a lack of friction. Those noises Drift could hear, that sounded suspiciously like whimpering, they were probably made by the bed too.

“Roll over,” Drift whispered, pasting himself over Ratchet’s back and caressing Ratchet’s audio with fiendish licks. “I wanna look at you when you overload.”

Ratchet slid off Drift’s spike, he felt his valve chase after it, squeezing down, trying to grip Drift inside. But he’d been fragged open, and was so slick that Drift’s exit made a loud, wet squelch.

“I’ll have you know.” Ratchet grunted, Drift grabbed Ratchet by the waist and pushed him onto his side without giving Ratchet time obey, “I might be ageing but I’m not a withered old”-

He was quite rudely interrupted.

When he started to rant, Drift had continued to rearrange Ratchet’s limbs, when his legs were crooked over Drift’s shoulder and his valve curved _up_ , Ratchet’s body decided it was an appropriate time to sound off.

Ratchet felt the brassy gout of air seep out of his valve and they both heard it.

Drift immediately doubled forward laughing.

Ratchet was so mortified his gut reaction was to slap his hands over his mouth and throw his helm back, which, unfortunately resulted in a collision with the wall.

“ _Ow!_ ” Lurching back up jerked his body and another pocket of air bubbled to its release.

Drift laughed harder.

“That’s so embarrassing.” Ratchet grumbled, natural: he’d seen it happen to other mechs during examinations, but this was making him cringe.

Drift wasn’t considerate enough to wipe the smile off his face, but he was compassionate toward Ratchet’s flushed face.

“It happens to everyone,” he was sure Ratchet already knew that. Drift wrapped a hand round Ratchet’s neck, yanked him forward and gave him a kiss for reassurance.

Ratchet snorted. Letting Drift’s little nibbles and licks continue down his body until they strayed suspiciously low.

“What’re you do-  _oh._ ”

Drift’s tongue lapped over Ratchet’s exterior node. He glanced up, optics shining and wagged his aft before delving deep between Ratchet’s thighs.

“You sure you wanna risk doing that?”

Ratchet’s knees gaped, Drift peeked up at him with his devious silver tongue poking between his lips. After what they’d just witnessed, Ratchet was surprised Drift would readily duck back down for a taste of his’s valve and chance another unexpected hiss of air hitting his face. But Drift did exactly that, and this time Ratchet certainly couldn’t blame the diabolical noises he made on the berth.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my favs.


	14. Overlord/Tarn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Overlord/Tarn Bodage kink, with power bottom Tarn?
> 
> I forgot the bondage, it'll be in the next chapter (y)

Overlord grunted and pressed his teeth together hard, exercising some measure of restraint against the impulses triggered by overload.

“Is that the best you can do?” Tarn sounded so, so disappointed. His tone grinding a sense of defeat deeply into Overlord’s self-esteem. Overlord curled his fingers, cutting groves into the recharge slab as he shuddered through climax. The dregs of his transfluid squeezed out and gathered with the rest of Overlord’s evidence of stamina.

Tarn bared down and thrust, his aft overflowed and Overlord’s oozy deposits dribbled onto the berth.

Exhausted, Overlord released Tarn’s hips, which had been hiked high in the excitement, and the puddle of transfluid splashed pearly flecks over both of them. Then he slumped forward, billowing hot, ragged breathes across Tarn’s body.

“Overlord,” Tarn felt Overlord’s energy leaving him, how much energy the mech had left in him was determined by the weight of his body pinning Tarn to the slab. It was getting heavier and heavier. As were the strokes of Tarn’s charge, hassling him for friction and a pleasurable release. “You have a job to finish”

The demand stirred Overlord, as he heaved himself up, Tarn watched the Phase-Sixer’s elbows wobble.

Despite the fresh feeling of a well-fragged valve and the allure of slamming Tarn until he came undone. Overlord had already tried that. He’d tried very hard. Although his will was unbroken and his intention were powerful, Overlord’s spike could scarcely muster a twitch.

Conceding to his body’s limits, Overlord bent into Tarn’s service.

“Good pet.” Tarn was surprisingly rewarding, the husky tone of his voice thickened with a corpulence of lust and imagined luxury, and he sprawled on the berth, so certain that, when Overlord motioned to swallow the head of his spike, that Overlord wouldn’t dare bite. However, Tarn had different intentions for Overlord’s plush lips.

“No.”

Overlord froze, his lips pursed and he was posed like a harlot in front of Tarn’s spike, the image of which made the Phase-Sixer frown. Somehow, beneath the mask, Overlord had an inkling that Tarn was smiling. There was a gloating smugness lacing his voice when he spoke, “Not there.”

Overlord’s eyes flashed down, fixing on Tarn’s undeniably succulent valve drooling their fluids.

“That’s it.”

The tip of Tarn’s spike got a kiss on automatic, a sadly symbolic gesture of how routine these practices had become. Then Overlord lowered himself.

Tarn sat up, doing so made the tendons behind his knee caps strain, but the enjoyment of being able to watch Overlord’s lips move against his valve sweetened the sensation.

“Faster, use your tongue. Come on!” Tarn’s voice pitched high. Overlord’s tongue was as thick and plush as his lips. He made Tarn buck and squirm, “D-Do you enjoy the taste of yourself?”

Tarn’s chest was rising like a bellows, as if speaking was half of what he got off on.

Overlord groaned against Tarn’s external node, and lapped up every dollop of their combined excretions.


	15. Overlord/Tarn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bondage bit...

The gag Overlord had chosen was not built to serve the purpose he intended it for. But it worked well enough…

It suppressed Tarn’s wheezing gasps each time Overlord ploughed into him. Throwing his weight forward, Overlord made a point of abusing the back of Tarn’s valve, squashing the head of his spike deeper with a bruising force. Just the way Tarn liked it.

The ropes looped around Tarn’s tank treads were yanked on, Overlord manipulated them like reigns and forced Tarn to conform with the pace he set, which was brutal and relentless. The slick sounds and their plating scraping together echoed off the walls. Overlord was so focused on defiling Tarn’s valve to unnatural extremes that he was taken aback when Tarn stopped resisting and overloaded.

Transfluid splattered up the berth as Tarn’s energy released. With no support, he slumped forward, turning his head to the side so that it was his cheek that landed in the transfluid and not his lips. As he was boneless and unable to support himself, it was inevitable. The awkward curve of his throat put a strain on the false spike stuffed in his mouth. Tarn felt its bulbous head bending his intake and swallowed around it. The top of his throat was dry.

Overlord was still stiff, his spike so full of energon he could feel its hot, needy pulse.

With one hand pressing Tarn’s face into his own transfluid, Overlord began to slowly and steadily ease back.

His exit sucked out a wash of fluid. Tarn’s aft was scratched and raw, and gleaming in the room’s cold light. Overlord slapped it. His hand clapping directly over Tarn’s valve and impact spluttered the mess further.

Air shuddered out of Tarn’s vents. Overlord grasped him by the restraints immobilising his shoulders and heaved Tarn off the berth.

There was a hook dangling down from the ceiling, an excessively large, rusted object with an ominously sharp point. Overlord looped it through Tarn’s bound wrists.

If he desired, Tarn could stand, and avoid the excessive strain pulling under his arms but he chose not to. He knelt, but his kneecaps couldn’t exactly touch the floor, leaving him to dangle and sway with the slight momentum he’d been left with, until Overlord appeared in front of him and eased the swinging.

The Phase-Sixer’s spike was conveniently level with Tarn’s mouth, which was probably why he’d opted to keep the uncomfortable position. When Overlord finally removed the long, false spike from Tarn’s lips, he gagged. A weak sputter of fluid pushed up from his tanks and drooled over Tarn’s flushed lips. When Overlord kissed them, it tasted of acid.

With a hum of approval, Overlord leaned back. He admired Tarn for subjecting himself to this. It was certainly a lesson in humility. Tarn’s face was a mess. The false spike had left an impression in his intake that made his voice crackle when he spoke.

“What’re you waiting for?” He fixed Overlord with a sidelong, mulish look, “We’re not finished yet.”

Judging by the evidence presented by Overlord’s long and eager spike, it was clear to see that Tarn’s accusation was correct.


	16. Skywarp/Moonracer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Moonracer and Skywarp. Privy (secret) sex with the "enemy".

Skywarp was renowned for being a flirt, while that reputation had initially caused some issues of trust between them, in the long run, his nature saved them from suspicion if their meetings on the battlefield failed to look entirely confrontational.

“ _It looked like he was trying to tickle you, not kill you._ ” Someone had pointed out recently.

As Skywarp lapped down her throat, he merrily told Moonracer not to worry.

But she did worry, even though they were tucked out of sight in the cargo bay of the Ark, she was concerned about getting caught.

“You need to relax.” Skywarp hiked her legs higher round his hips and tried to be distracting. Moonracer’s thighs squeezed his waist.

“I know, but if the Autobots caught us doing this…” Skywarp pouted and Moonracer found him irresistible, “I’m sorry.” She smiled against Skywarp’s lips, “Help me relax?”

Skywarp happily obliged. Their combined weight leaned on a stack of cargo containers. Skywarp pleasured Moonracer with a few shallow thrusts before sinking down to the floor and held her in his lap. Moonracer felt his spike squash into the malleable end of her valve and groaned. Skywarp stayed completely still and she sunk down on his spike over and over, breathing sharp breaths against Skywarp’s neck.

“You’re still so  _tight_.” Skywarp slipped his hand between her legs, sliding his fingers through the slick wetness spread between them and prodding at the stretched lips of her valve, “and quiet…don’t I make you feel good?”

Skywarp swept his thumb over her exterior node.

“Yes.” Moonracer clenched up and breathed hard.

“What was that?” Skywarp teased, starting a motion that moved Moonracer faster, bounced her harder against his hips. “Little bit louder, come on.”

“Skywarp… someone will hear us.” But she wasn’t resisting him, as her charge rose her inhibitions slowly fell away, to Skywarp’s delight.

“No one’s going to hear us.” He cooed. Pushing forward, Moonracer’s shoulders connected with the cargo containers again and she pleaded for him to do her a little harder and make her want to be loud for him.  “Go on,” Skywarp hoisted her legs higher, folding her body in half as he ploughed forward. The friction of his spike delivering a buzz of charge to all her internal nodes. Moonracer bucked and moaned and stroked her hands over her chest, fiddling with her curves and delighting in Skywarp’s rapture.

“Hello? Is somebody in here?”

Skywarp froze, Moonracer’s valve squeezed him but she was equally alarmed.

“Gotta go.” Skywarp made an urgent move forward, powering up his teleportation unit, he wouldn’t leave without a  kiss goodbye and pecked Moonracer hard on her rosy lips, “Think of me when you overload.”

With a pop and crackle, Skywarp teleported while he was still  _inside_  of Moonracer. Excess energy flooded her, boiling her interface with intense feeling and rapidly pushed her charge to the verge of overload. But the fear of being caught exposed snatched pleasure away.

“Moonracer? Are you alright?” Wheeljack was surprised to see her sitting on the floor.

“Fine, Wheeljack,” Sealing her panel with a valve bloated by fluids was uncomfortable but she managed to cover her discomfort well enough to stand, only marginally wobbling “I just tripped.”


	17. Overlord/Tarn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Overlord, Tarn, with the foot kink?

The snow drifts on Delphi were deep, even with all their heavy duty armour, Cybertronians still felt the cold, and after trudging for miles and miles through ice and frigid tundra, Tarn’s feet were cold.

He’d cover ground faster if he used his altmode, but the T-Cog inside him was ground up and pulped from excessive use, forcing a transformation could spread the damage to his other major systems. Tarn decided the risk wasn’t worth it, but abstaining from transformation aggravated  his craving, and the horrible numbness of the blizzard pelting against his frame caged all of his withdrawal symptoms and bitterness inside.

By the time he arrived at the Peaceful Tyranny there were icicles growing under the angles and ledges of Tarn’s frame.

Yearning to thaw out in comfort, Tarn requested Overlord meet him in the refractory. A trail of water droplets followed him to the empty communal room. Tarn poured himself a tall cube of energon: smelting pool hot. So hot that, when it first touched his tongue it burned and Tarn was forced to set aside the cube, for now. Then Overlord arrived.

The Phase-Sixer loitered in the doorway, an inhibitor claw had been welded between his shoulders, effectively taming him. He never acted without permission and entered the room after Tarn had indicated that he should do so.

The cold and itching of his unused T-Cog made Tarn irritable but Overlord’s willing subservience was a welcome distraction. As practiced, Overlord knelt in front of Tarn, and immediately after, Tarn presented his cold, sore foot to Overlord, resting it on the Phase-Sixer’s knee.

“I’ve had a hard day.” Tarn flexed his foot, the heel grating into Overlord’s paint. It was beneath Overlord to pamper anybody this way but the terms of service he’d been sentenced to were explicit: he must carry out the whims of the entire DJD or else suffer a fate worse than death. Although he was not entirely unwilling, his decision wrap his hands round Tarn’s huge foot was highly coerced.

Overlord started by massaging the joint nearest Tarn’s ankle, his thumbs got wet as they pressed into the seams and dislodged the remnants of the melting snow. A shudder ran up Tarn’s leg and ended as a twitch in his thigh.

“Harder.” He commanded. Overlord kneaded with his knuckles and it felt so good that Tarn forgot his T-Cog frustration and started to relax, draping himself over the undersized cafeteria chair and humming softly to himself.

Overlord continue his fine work, pressing into the ball joints and rolling the thick tendons. The more pleasure Tarn absorbed, the heavier his foot got. On a whim, and to reward Overlord for his obedience and hidden talents, Tarn extended his cube of energon and tipped it toward Overlord’s mouth.

“Drink.”

Overlord slurped fuel, thin runnels flowed past his lips and dribbled off his chin.

“Don’t swallow,” Overlord frowned at Tarn’s strange request, “Wash it round your mouth.” He watched Overlord’s cheeks bulge and hollow at as the drink sloshed from side to side. “Now you can swallow.”

Soon after the liquid flowed into his empty tank Overlord gasped.

“How does your mouth feel?”

Again, Overlord was heckled by the oddness of the situation.

“I don’t know…warm?”

Tarn’s engine rumbled pleasantly.

“Good. You can use your mouth now.”

It was even more satisfying that Tarn had imagined. Overlord lips were hot, he opened is mouth wide and breathed moist air over the tip of Tarn’s foot. Heat bloomed and spread.

“Excellent.” Tarn reached forward and petted Overlord’s head, “Don’t forget, after this you have another foot to attend.”  


	18. Helex/Tarn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:Helex/Tarn, with fingering

The core of Helex’s smelter was hotter than a blast furnace, even through three feet of reinforced glass there was still a trickle of heat eking to the surface. It felt highly pleasant against Tarn’s valve. The instinct to grind and spread himself over the glass was undeniable, but Helex’s sub-hands held Tarn’s hips a breath away from the glass and tortured his pliant exterior sensors with the rising heat draught.

Tarn shuddered, bracing his hands on Helex’s thighs and arching up. Helex pinned Tarn’s valve open, using his thumbs to hook the fleshy rubber and part it, giving him a pleasant view of Tarn’s twitchy, desperate innards.

“Hmmm,” Each time Helex purred his approval, the glass shuddered and heat vibrated upward making Tarn clench up, grit his teeth and nuzzle the firm curve of Helex’s spike leaning over Tarn’s shoulder, dribbling pre-fluid onto Tarn’s tank treads. Fortunately, he cared little for the mess as they’d spread it evenly and stickily between them. It was a strange position to be in but Helex had a long body. When Tarn twisted his fingers inside Helex’s valve he thrust his aft up in a demand for the same courtesy.

Helex’s sub-hands weren’t designed to be as dexterous as his main pair, but they tweaked Tarn’s valve so nicely. He wormed two fingers inside Tarn then stabbed them into the subtle mesh. Tarn squeezed around them, despite his penchant for pain, Tarn growled,

“Careful.” He had no desire to visit Nickel with a request that she stitch-up some intimate issues. She’s warned Tarn not to sit on anything too big before… 

“Sorry boss, should I be more gentle with yah?” Helex chuffed, he twisted his fingers in a wide circle, Tarn’s gaping valve squelched and more fluid dripped and bubbled over the glass of the smelter.

Tarn did not take kindly to being taunted, and, fighting against the distraction of a pleasurable stretch, Tarn would not be between either.

Helex’s valve was amply lubricated but it was almost unnecessary as his size was proportional to the rest of him and so his hungry valve lips ate up Tarn’s hand without much resistance. All Tarn needed to do with give a little push and his knuckles breached Helex, stimulating a reflex of twitched that rocked Tarn against Helex’s body.

“What’s that?” Tarn breathed over Helex’s spike, “You want more?” He spread his hand, finger tips digging into the spasms of the channel.

“Please!” Helex sounded ragged and began to so, so gently caress Tarn’s insides. Tarn cooed and sunk backward, his aft swallowing Helex’s busy fingers down to the knuckle.

“That’s better.”

Stuffing valves was more enjoyable when the were both well spread.


	19. Cyclonus/Tailgate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Cygate and body worship?
> 
> Set before Cyclonus visits the Dead Universe.

The camera flash shone directly at Tailgate’s face and he winced.

“I - I think I blinked.”

Cyclonus was on his knees at a far corner of the berth, changing the display settings on the camera. He murmured.

“Yes, you did,” and he lifted the camera to take another shot. Tailgate keened and pushed out his chest a little more as if to flaunt his figure. Cyclonus made an appreciative sound and showed Tailgate the result of his effort on the display. The light of the flash bounced off the sheen of lubricant bubbling at the corners of Tailgate’s closed interface.

Cyclonus reached down, and with two fingers put pressure on the quivering panel and pushed it  _up_. As expected it was hot. Tailgate breathing hiccuped and more fluids bloomed through the seams that didn’t kiss correctly.

“ _Ah,_ Cyclonus.” As soon as Tailgate urged his hips down, he seated himself in Cyclonus’s hands, squirming, making the cup of Cyclonus’s palm wet.

Cyclonus squeezed him, but mercy didn’t last and he removed his hand to steady the camera. Tailgate’s valve was warm and needy, feeding hot pulses of arousal all over Tailgate’s body making his thighs quake.

For effect, Cyclonus flattened himself on the berth and pointed the camera up, toward Tailgate’s flushed face. The flash went off again and Tailgate was still unaccustomed to the shocking blast of light in the overall sedated glow of the room.

“Kneel a little straighter. Don’t squeeze your legs together.” Pulling his thighs apart without falling was a challenge. Tailgate was weak, and so close to begging Cyclonus to discard the camera and ravish him, “When I say, open your interface,”

Tailgate’s face clenched up and he  _push_ -

“Not yet.”

“ _nnuh!_ ”

“When I say… _now_.”

The reaction was automatic. Cyclonus jabbed the picture button three times in total and caught the movement of lubricant swash out of Tailgate’s valve and splatter across the berth. The prompt extension of Tailgate’s spike was also documented, his stubby girth continued to curve proudly against his abdomen.

“ _Ohhh-uh_!” Tailgate cooed and stooped forward, fighting keep his hands at his sides when the room’s cool ventilation tickled his interface. Hot air was rising quickly out of Tailgate. Cyclonus felt his own plating get tighter as he viewed and recorded Tailgate’s every whimper.  

“Bend over.”

Cyclonus got off the berth and paced around to Tailgate’s aft. He’d positioned himself in anticipation of Cyclonus slipping slowly inside him. When Cyclonus kneeled on the berth and did nothing, Tailgate’s whines got louder.

“ _Please_  Cyclonus, what’s the all about? I wanna, _uh_ ,” Cyclonus pressed his mouth to the bottom margin of Tailgate’s valve  _and licked_ , “I wanna frag!” Tailgate’s demand ended in a shriek. Cyclonus dabbed the tip of his tongue over the crease of Tailgate’s very aroused, sweltering core.

Cyclonus eased back again, it drained him of all of his restraint and surely this would be his last picture of the minibot’s aft that he wanted to sink his teeth into, along with his well-rounded thighs and the dainty curve of his back.

“I want something to take with me. Something to remember you by.”

“Oh,” Tailgate’s voice was shaking too. Once he saw the flash illuminate the berth around him and then fade, Tailgate rolled onto his back. He stretched and curved his hips, his little hands tucked under his helm, “And are you taking pictures of all your favourite parts?”

Cyclonus crawled up Tailgate’s body with one hand wielding the camera. He hooked his finger tip under Tailgate’s chin and tilted Tailgate’s head up.

The camera snapped another shot. Cyclonus swooped in for a kiss, muttering against Tailgate’s mask,

“Now I have.”


	20. Ratchet/Pharma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Ratchet x pharma with a kink of biting (and giggles)

Pharma snorted, he threw his hands over his mouth to clasp the sound inside, but it was too late. Ratchet reared back.

“What now?!” 

…He automatically stroked his tongue across his lips, mopping up the residue of Pharma’s valve. It was  _sweet_  tasting, much like everything else about the jet, with the exception of his personality and the throaty chortles he made frequently. Initially, prompting Pharma to laugh had been something of a gimmick. At work he was so severe and haughty that tempting anything other than a cackle of derision from Pharma was a challenge, Ratchet was surprised to learn that a couple of high grades down the chute uncorked Pharma’s hidden whimsy. He’d taken advantage of his discovery and plied Pharma with drink. The more he guzzled the more Pharma laughed, as if everything was shiny and amusing to him, particularly Ratchet’s tongue squirming into his valve.

“I’m sensitive!” Pharma screeched. High Grade hadn’t only decomposed the inhibition that stemmed Pharma’s sense of humour, he was also very, very loud.

Ratchet grunted, and resumed, hiking Pharma’s slender legs higher and making impressions in the jet’s thighs. He heard Pharma’s vents hitch as his hot, damp breath kissed Pharma’s valve ahead of his mouth. It was a challenge in stability, but Ratchet pressed his hand  _under_  Pharma’s valve and squashed the jets thin lips together. The rubber pinched up and became fuller, rounder, lubricant bloomed and trickled down the crease for Ratchet to lap off. His tongue stretched out and pressed against the malleable valve, immediately he felt Pharma begin to shakily rock under his touch. Desperately trying to suppress another fit of giggles.    

Ratchet shoved back with a growl and Pharma lost control, honking and kicking his heels against Ratchet’s back.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Though he was distinctly unapologetic, “It’s just funny though, isn’t it? Being here, in your office, on your desk, getting munched by the CMO.”      

Ratchet rolled his optics.

“You could try being a little more quiet. As _thrilling_  as this is, we do have reputations to keep.”

Pharma hummed, uncaring, he flopped onto his back and made the desk creak, one hand floating around, searching for a phantom energon glass. His throat was parched! Then Ratchet’s tongue glided over the moist entrance to his valve and Pharma tensed up, a shiver of delight tickled his spine.

The hoot that erupted prematurely was cut off, and ended in a throaty groan. The first satisfactory sound Pharma had made all night.

Pharma attempted to prop himself up on his elbows,

“W-What are you -  _AH!”_

Ratchet rolled Pharma’s exterior node between his teeth, pinching down so slightly to make the bulb strain.

Pharma arched, gasping and kicking. To keep him still, Ratchet gripped his thighs firmly and every fruity flinch Pharma made was reprimanded by a hard bite into his thigh.

“Uhg, Ratchet!” Pharma cawed, hands clawing down his lustrous cockpit, bucking gently into Ratchet’s teeth. Having apparently solved the enigma, and finally unlocked Pharma’s passion Ratchet bit  _harder_ , tugged on the valve until he gathered a mouthful of Pharma’s interface and _sucked_. Pharma bolted up right, keening loudly. He grabbed hold of Ratchet’s head, fingers scraping across his helm and down neck, where the condensation leaked out of Ratchet’s ragged ventilation and dripped off Pharma’s sweaty legs collected round Ratchet’s collar.

The noises Pharma made became even less controlled. Every ungentle nip prompting a squeal to delight. Now that Pharma was sitting he needed less support. Ratchet pushed Pharma’s knees wide and probed his glossa between the circuitry in Pharma’s groin, chewing on a few of the fatter cables that were loose and rolled naturally between his teeth.

Pharma squirmed, his interface smearing across Ratchet’s cheeks. Three fingers curled into the gape of Pharma’s valve and pressed down, fuelling Pharma’s voracious appetite for hot messy, fragging.

Ratchet panted hard into Pharma’s valve, grazing the inflammation surrounding the interface with his teeth. Pharma shuddered when Ratchet’s nose poked his eternal node.

“H-harder.” He pleaded, thrusting his valve onto Ratchet’s fingers and forcing them to scrape deeper, the hard bend of Ratchet’s knuckles pressing into Pharma’s valve mesh.

The downpour of heat surging from Pharma’s vents cut abruptly, all of his energy got bottled up inside. Ratchet knew Pharma was on the verge of something, so he pushed harder and thrust his fingers quickly. Pharma’s croaky whines of pleasure turned softer, and as his pent up energy released, Ratchet closed his teeth over Pharma’s external node. His actions were repaid with a face full of fluid.

As Pharma felt his body release, he sighed in ultimate satisfaction, and slowly descended backward. Just as he’d settled, Ratchet cleared his throat. A little peeved to be interrupted during his afterglow, Pharma squinted down the length of his body.

Ratchet was still knelt between Pharma’s legs - his face was painted by an unprecedented gush of lubricant that was smattered as far as his optics and he didn’t look particularly impressed.

Pharma saw the mess and hiccuped.

“Don’t…” Ratchet growled. But his deterrent was swallowed by the sound of Pharma’s laughter.


	21. Ambulon/Drift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Drift/Ambulon - ex-Decepticons roleplaying Decepticons

A curl of paint shed off Ambulon shoulder one day while he was patching up Drift’s newest battle wound. Drift watched the flake shake itself loose and float down to join the collection mingling with the dust bunnies under the medical berth. Ambulon didn’t notice his paint abandoning him, it wasn’t unusual, but this time it unveiled something interesting underneath.

“Huh,” Drift made a sound that convinced Ambulon to lower the welding torch, “I always forget that you were a Decepticon too.”

Following Drift’s gaze to his should, Ambulon huffed and slapped his hand over the blemish. Constantly shedding was an irritation to him, especially when it revealed the corners of hidden relics - like his Decepticon insignia. 

“So do I, sometimes.” He spoke off-handedly, irked that he had to pause in his procedures to find a spray can of lacquer. The lacquer hissed over the cracks of paint breaking apart Ambuon’s shoulder and provided a temporary fix. He returned to the operating table, picked up the welder and applied the last of the sealant over the neat surgical cut. This was the first time Ratchet had let him perform the process without the CMO’s supervision. It was about time too, Ambulon had done it a thousand times before, but that didn’t explain why his hands had initially started to tremble.

“Really?” Drift found the idea of forgetting so hard to believe when it seemed he was constantly reminded of his past daily, if not by the inconsiderate comments the crew made, then his own self-conscious would creep up on him in the night.

Ambulon shrugged, and finished the job at hand.

“Yeah, I guess I was never a very good Deception. I didn’t really know what I was getting into.”

“Yeah… don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t have the personality for it.” Ambulon was quiet and a little abrasive, but he lacked the bravado to be one of Megatron’s assets. Drift considered the blotchy, slightly skewed patch job stitching up his torso and wrinkled his nose. Ambulon’s rough finesse however, did resemble something familiarly Decepticon.

“What, you mean I’m not a sadistic doctor? I should tell you, the Autobots have some crazy medics too.” ‘Exhibit A’ being Pharma. 

Drift reclined on the berth with a dopey smile.

“Take it as a compliment. I think I played being The Decepticon a little too well.”

Ambulon got the impression Drift was failing at being humorous. He’d seen Deadlock’s handy work and it was spectacularly brutal. The awkwardness in Ambulon counteracted the humour, and the atmosphere turned stale when he couldn’t muster up a reply. Drift started to fidget.

It began with a nervous chuckle, but what started as an innocent mistake unintentionally dug the grave of embarrassment deeper as Drift tried to remedy the situation.

“Yeah, if you were a real Decepticon doctor, we’d probably be fragging by now.” Drift’s poorly timed nervous laughter ended in a groan, Ambulon glanced up at him, catching an expression of regret flirt with Drift’s features. But as an interested and active individual, Ambulon could smell a proposition being made.

“Okay, I’ll play. Is that all it takes to be a  _real_ Decepticon doctor? I take it you’ve seen a few.”

Drift knew exactly what Ambulon was implying. He squeezed his legs together tightly, the scar on his middle giving him a faint twinge of discomfort.

“Enough to know that one of their favourite things to do is to combine study with fragging…”

Ambulon made a knowing sound, he could definitely imagine a few practices that would certainly suit that idea. But he was inexperienced. As a Decepticon, and as an Autobot there weren’t many people who elected to interface with him. In the medical bay or in safer territory.

“I’ve never fragged a patient.”

“Not yet.” Drift squirmed a little. Ambulon glanced back at the entrance to the medical bay, chuffing air, “Haven’t you ever wondered about it?”

“I’m wondering now.” That made Drift smile, “But if I’m going to behave like a poor - practiced Decepticon doctor. Don’t I deserve a Decepticon patient?”  

A snarl rolled across Deadlock’s lips.

“You should be careful  _doctor_  sometimes the physician can leave in worse shape that the patient.”

“Huh, we’ll see.” Ambulon tucked away the soldering iron and produced an ambiguous tool from a draw, he held it up for Deadlock to admire, “Get your legs up in the stirrups, it’s time for your physical.”

In a flustering moment before the games could begin, they’d agreed on a word:  _Avalanche_. Drift, or as he would soon become, Deadlock, reminded Ambulon the word was for both of them. Deadlock was restrained, snarling, but gleeful - Ambulon was unsure. Bravado was part of the game and when he stood in front of Deadlock’s medical slab, Ambulon expression deadened to something wicked. He felt like a predator.

Deadlock’s legs were locked in the stirrups and stretched apart. Ambulon stared down the length of Deadlock’s squirming body, delaying his participation as uncertainty filled Ambulon with reluctance, until the nervous energy making Deadlock’s thighs quake and the stirrups squeak, then Ambulon was filled with inspiration.

His hands stretched out and clutched Deadlock’s metal for was first time in a nonprofessional capacity. The pressure behind Ambulon’s finger tips increased and the visible shaking in Deadlock’s thighs was reduced to a minute quiver Ambulon could only perceive through contact.

“One of your main arteries that stems from your fuel pump and all over your body, also passes through here,” With precision, Ambulon pushed two fingers into Deadlock’s groin and plucked on a fat wire.  

Deadlock’s optics flashed, concern mingled with the curiosity behind the sensation.

“Did you know that  _Morphenite_ isn’t only a painkiller? It can also make you, very, very happy. If I inject you here with a small amount”-

“No drugs.”

Ambulon’s fawning over Deadlock’s cables stumbled. The thinly veiled apprehension came bubbling to the front of his mind again, was this a request or a test? And would a Decepticon doctor heed the requests of his patients?

“B-but it will help you perform.” The stuttering wasn’t an attribute of his imagined character. Ambulon felt a flush rising up his body, into his neck and face.

Deadlocked barked.

“You think I need  _help_  performing? What an insult. But seriously, _Avalanche_ , no drugs.”

Ambulon didn’t release Deadlock’s thigh, but he did ease back, and his fingers slipped out from Deadlock’s cables.

“Are you alright doctor, you look agitated.”  

“Are we  _playing_ again now?” Ambulon sniped, only because the feeling of uncertainty had returned and filling him a nagging apprehension.

“Ambulon, you’re doing fine. Don’t let yourself get so weighed down, would a Decepticon doctor worry as much as you do?”

Probably not.

“I - I…” Ambulon’s breath sighed out of his vents and licked over Deadlock’s thighs. Deadlock’s interface was positioned in front of Ambulon, closed, but easily open to manipulation. Deadlock homed in on Ambulon’s interest and subtly pushed his crotch closer to Ambulon’s nose. A tickle of excitement briefly flirted with Ambulon’s struts, but it was quashed by his own chagrin that refused to be buried.

“I’m sorry.” Ambulon pushed back from Deadlock’s legs. Once he engaged his withdrawal, the flight instinct in Ambulon couldn’t be stopped, “I’m not, was never, a very good Decepticon.” and he started to unbuckle Drift’s ankles from the stirrups, quickly, because the sooner he could free the Third - In - Command, the sooner Drift could leave and Ambulon could retreat to his office and shudder in a well of embarrassment and self-pity.

Drift didn’t object to being untied. At first, his lack of objection or reaction made Ambulon feel the weight of disappointment pile up on his shoulders, but after reminding himself that the lack of interfacing and the frustration was his fault, Ambulon realised he deserved the silent treatment.

“Don’t feel bad,” Drift said, finally. Ambulon manoeuvred round the berth tending to each restraint, “Acting a part takes a lot of confidence. It’s okay.”

Ambulon could agree, but he felt mocked by his own self-esteem. It would be different if he didn’t feel like he was neglecting Drift’s desires on account of his own fears. It was cowardly, not Decepticon - like at all.

“It’s not just that.” Ambulon muttered, untying a cord and returned the freedom of movement to Drift’s hands. “I - I felt foolish.”

Drift sat up, slowly so as not to disturb his wound and swung his legs over the edge of the berth.

“Hey,” he caught Ambulon’s hand, “What are you getting so upset for?”

“I feel like I’ve let you down,” Ambulon’s intakes huffed. He let Drift keep holding his one hand while the other pinched his nose, “You were expecting something and I let you down I’m sorry,” Ambulon’s own voice sounded heavy and forced, “It’s not that I don’t want to. I’m just not… not prepared.”

“That’s okay. Hey, this was supposed to be fun for the both of us. If you weren’t enjoying yourself, I would’ve known.”

Ambulon chewed his lips, which indicated to Drift that Ambulon still wasn’t happy.

“ _Ah,_ ” Drift was in a pickle, nervous energy making his insides tickle and pushing more words out of his mouth, “I feel bad now.” He let go of Ambulon’s hand to slap his cheeks as if it would stimulate some sensible thoughts,

“Don’t do that, I don’t want you to feel like slag coz of me.” However, Ambulon supposed that was the initial and root issue, he didn’t want Drift to be disappointed in him, and by making that obvious, in a roundabout and unintentional sequence of events - he’d succeeded in doing so anyway.

“Heh, okay, I’m not sure if this’ll help but… you  _were_  a Decepticon doctor, so really… all you have to do is be yourself. And um, if you’re still interested, I’d quite like to get to know you before I meet the  _mad doctor_.”

Dumbstruck, Ambulon worked his jaw and turned naturally into Drift’s arms after some encouragement. Now, Drift’s fingers were on Ambulon’s hips and his lips twisted, it was too charming and Ambulon felt his spark flutter.

“But I’m, I’m not”- Impressive, interesting, a  _good frag_.

Drift continued to smirk, his fingers creeping up to Ambulon’s clammy neck.

“I’m sure you are… and I’m still looking for an excuse to try out those stirrups.”

It didn’t take much more incentive, Ambulon clumsily flopped against Drift’s lips, he could feel a fleck of paint plastered to his tongue and was quick to pluck it off his pallet the moment Drift broke contact and rearranged himself on the berth. As soon as the paint was disposed of, Ambulon clambered onboard too.

*

Ratchet was wiping his lunch off his lips and frowning. He could hear noises. Ragged breaths and squeaks of under-oiled suspension. He had a sinking feeling he was moving toward the source of the debauchery and as he rounded into the medical bay, ready to commence his afternoon shift, his fiendish suspicions were confirmed.

Prudish mechs with weak stomachs might have rushed back the way they’d come and hunted down a stiff drink at Swerve’s. Ratchet was determined to stare out the couple making inappropriate use of one of the main medical berths.  

Drift’s legs were flung high and balanced in the stirrups. Ratchet couldn’t see his valve, it was shielded by his thighs but by the motion of his wrist it was quite clear where Drift was shoving his fingers. Even more obscene was the presence of Ambulon perched over him.

When Ambulon clocked their spectator he froze. A euphoric charge buzzed in his head and his cheeks burned with heat. He had both feet settled on either side of Drift’s waist and had risen so that Drift’s spike was on barely squeezed by the iris of his valve.

He was on top to protect the freshly sealed legion stitching Drift’s middle together. Obviously, Drift wasn’t too concerned about his latest battle scar, his spike gave a devious little twitch against Ambulon’s flushed valve and, with that, the dregs of Deception-ism left in Ambulon defeated modesty.

With his helm still twisted in Ratchet’s direction, Ambulon sunk slowly back down Drift’s girth, swallowing it inch by inch. He was so tight, but slick and so aroused every bump and nodule pressing inside him made Ambulon’s face squeeze tighter. When his aft bumped into Drift’s hips, Drift’s spike compressed Ambulon’s ceiling node and Ambulon released a shuddering, self-satisfied gasp.

“Oh Primus,”

He overloaded.

* * *

 


	22. Fort Max/Red Alert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Fort Max/Red Alert cuddly porn would be cute

Red Alert was flushed, his cheeks were hot and the throbbing of his own pulse filled his audios. Luna 1 was still and eerie, there was nothing worth listening to outside the room which ensured all of his focus was where it belonged: fixated on Fortress Maximus’s blissful expression

Max preferred to keep his optics closed as he pumped tirelessly but slowly in and out of Red Alert’s valve, but Red Alert enjoyed watching the creases form across Fortress Maximus nose each time Red Alert rocked him a little deeper into his valve.

Maximus’s hands were on Red Alert’s hips but he never pulled him, his monstrous size was a burden to him, so he relinquished control to Red Alert, allowing the smaller mech to take his pleasure ensured Maximus gained his own satisfaction.

Red Alert had stooped forward and his callipers throbbed round half of Maximus’s spike but he was already feeling full and moaning softly under the pressure of his steadily building overload.

“ _Ooo,_ ”

Red Alert’s arms started to shake against Maximus’s chest, he squeezed a little more of Maximus’s girth inside, which lowered him down more, enough to press his throbbing exterior node to Maximus’s pelvis and scrub it over the metal with every ardent grind of their hips. It felt good, all of Red Alert’s pleasure trickled down to his interface and some of it even started to leak, all over his thighs, aft and Maximus.

As the first twitch of overload hit, Fortress Maximus grasped Red Alert’s spike and roughly shook out the spray of transfluid as Red Alert feverishly rubbed his exterior node against Maximus’s trembling metal. The crest of his overload ebbed, Red Alert was still quivering and moaning softly when Fortress Maximus bundled Red Alert up in his arms.

The rearranged themselves comfortably on their sides, Fortress Maximus spooned up against Red Alert’s back, stroking his waist and hips and sliding his knee between Red Alert’s legs. His thighs felt sticky as they peeled apart, his valve tingled when the cool air stroked over the swollen rubber.

“Max?” He huffed, squirming his hips. The wetness of his own transfluid splattered over Maximus’s chest was transferred onto Red Alert’s back as Maximus squeezed closer. The thick armour protecting Red Alert’s middle detached and slid onto the berth. Fortress Maximus smoothed large circles over Red Alert’s middle that was soon bending and contorting to suit Maximus’s slowly imposing girth slipping between his legs.    

“Ahh,” Red Alert hadn’t adjusted perfectly, Maximus could still feel the end of Red Alert’s valve pinching his tips which felt delectable, if only Red Alert felt the same. Removing the armour gave them extra room, but Maximus was content to take his time. He eased back, and felt protrusion of his spike in Red Alert abdomen shrink under his palm before easing in again, bloating Red Alert’s valve and squeezed his hand over the swell of his girth prompting them both to hiss. Max convinced Red Alert’s valve to take more of his girth with every slow thrust and smothered his helm into Red Alert’s neck. He knew the mech liked to be kissed there. It helped him settle, and Maximus wasn’t convinced Red Alert was purely content until he cocked his leg higher and spread his valve further.

It was less restrictive, Fortress Maximus heaved a sigh of relief and buried his girth, whimpering to the sensations of Red Alert twitching and squirming around him.

“Are you okay?”

Maximus was never particularly vocal, Red Alert reached over and stroked his chin. Maximus was panting hard, “Are you close?”

He nodded, incapable of speaking and pushed in firmly.

Red Alert’s valve collapsed over his spike, gripping him and making Max weak, working Max into an overload he shuddered through.

Transfluid hit the rear of Red Alert’s valve and swashed backward, the soft keens of argent feeling, and the stroke of Red Alert’s hand, massaging the panel above Maximus’s girth, made Fortress Maximus quiver. Red Alert’s valve hugged his spike, as Fortress Maximus embraced his whole body.

It was bliss.

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya! If you like these prompts there's more on my blog: bammshee@tumblr.com. Search Kink Prompt ;) 
> 
> I will be accepting more prompts in the future so feel free to drop me a message with your idea :)


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